


It Is All Just Flesh

by AnotherAnon0



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt, Fingerfucking, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Knifeplay, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Instability, Narcissism, Non-Graphic Smut, SUPER RAREPAIR EXTRAVAGANZA, Scars, Self-Harm, plastic surgery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherAnon0/pseuds/AnotherAnon0
Summary: Morpheus Duvall hates his very unstable interest in Sergei Vladimir.Presented in short vignettes.[Pretty please with sugar on top heed tags]
Relationships: Morpheus D. Duvall/Sergei Vladimir
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	It Is All Just Flesh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pistolrush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pistolrush/gifts).



"How can you stand yourself..?"

Morpheus cocked his lip, nostrils flaring as his eyes remained trained on the figure across from him. A few seconds of his disgusted expression passed before a tiny _cluck_ in his mind reminded him that contorting his features might cause wrinkles. Immediately, he smoothed out his expression, an involuntary finger moving up to his cheek to stroke at the skin as though he were searching for the damage his momentary lapse in judgement had caused. 

"How can you stand to _look_ like _that_?" He repeated his question in otherwise similar terms, irritated when the only response he received was a precarious, glinting smile, reflected through the mirror the other man was facing into.

The _click_ of ice being dropped into a glass tinged through the room. It was quickly followed by deep, liquid _glugs_ , and the familiar, though not pleasant smell of liquor.

Sergei turned once he'd taken his first sip, the deep sigh he emitted one of calmness washing over him like an oceanic wave. The dim, orange glow trickling through the cabin window cast soft, golden contours on his face. 

"How can you stand me?" He asked softly. Morpheus hated the touch of amusement in his voice.

"I can't!" He spat, "I absolutely can't."

"Then you have your answer."

~

Sergei would hold his hair back sometimes, though it would always result in more anxiety. 

What if he pulled out a hair by accident? What if he pulled out more than one? What if h--

An avalanche of nausea stopped the frightened thoughts circulating through his temples, another rush of upset spilling forth from his throat into the toilet he was perched over. The marble tiles were cool against his knees, an unintentionally soothing sensation.

"Do you want me to get the waiter to bring you some water, _malysh_?"

"N-no!" He bubbled stupidly. 

Outside the stall, he could hear the bathroom attendant clear his throat awkwardly. He was spraying the towels down with handsome perfumes, ones that made Morpheus feel even more ill. Just beyond the door, the clattering of cups and silverware complimented the soft piano reverberating through the expensive restaurant Sergei had brought him to.

He'd never asked to be brought for dinner. Nor did he ask for the roast suckling pig, which the waiter insisted on him having. He could feel the fat seeping into his cells the moment he put a bite of it in his mouth. He could feel the oil dripping through his veins, pushing up into his skin.

Sergei had looked disappointed when he'd demanded to be directed to the washroom, storming through the elaborate dining hall, suppressing a sob. 

The Colonel had followed him, as he always did, and sighed in a mingling mix of irritation and concern as he leaned over him, gently taking his hair into his fingers.

He'd never understood.

He'd never understand. 

~

A fluttering sensation of numbness accompanied the touch -- a gentle stroke which started at his forehead and ended at the tip of his nose. 

Morpheus didn't know why he had allowed the touch. The bandages had just been removed -- what if the oversized oaf accidentally dislodged something, he thought in trepidation. But just as he was going to chastise Sergei, the older man withdrew his hand, setting it in his lap. 

"It looks different."

"Good?" His voice was nasally, clogged -- sinuses totally congested by inflammation and fluid.

He hated it.

"Different."

Morpheus adjusted his head, sinking it deeper into the pillow of his hospital bed. A moment of silence passed between them, Sergei sitting in a chair perched beside him. The younger man could feel his gaze passing over him intently.

He _hated_ it.

"Id's sdill swollen!" He insisted suddenly, throbbing accompanying the sudden outburst. Morpheus groaned, bringing a hand up to his bruised cheek. "You shouldn'd even be looking at id!"

"Your old nose was fi--"

"Shud up!" 

~

He worried the ugliness would rub off on him. 

His body wanted to enjoy the sensations -- the rubbing, the prodding, the stroking -- but a part of his mind screamed at him and demanded he get the scarred digits dislodged from his body.

One of his hands darted for Sergei's wrist, but a gentle stroke of a deep, sensitive spot on his inner walls made it fall weakly at his belly mid-grasp. His eyelids fluttered, just barely able to catch Sergei's silhouette crouched over him through the darkness. Internally, his thoughts were waging a war with his desires -- like they always did.

Sergei wasn't good enough for him, he told himself. It didn't matter that he had money or power in the company. He was ugly. He was wrecked. He was damaged. What else mattered but beauty? Beauty Sergei could never possess. Beauty he didn't seem to _want_ to.

Nausea roiled through his guts as he thought about the fingers inside of him. Sliced up, bruised, calloused, overworked, ruined things. What if he hurt him? What if he scratched him? What if some of his very cells transferred onto him and began to mutate him, stealing his beauty, hastening his descent into rot?

Soft rubbing. Fingers slipping in and out gently, too gently, not gently enough. Consideration that was out-of-place, benevolence that had no business with either one of them. 

Morpheus felt his back arch, a tiny whimper escaping him and wisping up into the darkness. 

He wanted him deeper. 

He wanted him _out_.

Sweat was beading on his forehead, forcing him to consider the possibility it was clogging his pores. His stomach lurched in horror at the thought, and in an instant, his mind won out. He kicked himself back, pushing Sergei away from him and tumbled off the edge of the bed in a rapid dart towards the bathroom. 

He avoided looking in the mirror as he turned the shower taps, though he could feel the palpable disappointment emanating from it.

~

Sergei was playing with his knife again. 

He ran it over his knuckles, a red stripe appearing a delayed few moments later after the blade had left his skin. Sergei lifted the hand to dangle above him, watching ribbons of blood curling down his veins, twisting around his wrist where they formed heavy beads that _dripped_ and _pattered_ down slowly onto his face.

Morpheus gagged, brow furrowing tightly. He could smell the alcohol undulating off of the other man, its presence confirmed by the empty, clear bottle standing proudly on the side table before the massive reading chair he was lazily laying back in. 

"Something... happened.... in.... Arklay..." The older man murmured, but Morpheus couldn't have been bothered to listen, instead focusing on how the Colonel's normally pristine grey trench coat was hanging open sloppily, wrinkling the material. He wasn't wearing an undershirt, and Morpheus was judgementally assessing the bed of scars armoured over his massive chest, disgust contorting his features. He tried desperately to battle it but failed to regain stoicism. 

He knew that skin would scar. He knew the blood would stain. He knew it would get infected, and puss, and fester. He was witnessing the birth of ugliness, and what a horrific sight it was. He didn't understand how Sergei didn't care. 

"What are you _doing_?" He hissed, "Making yourself even more hideous than you are?"

Blood trickled down Sergei's cheeks as they balled into a smile, pulling his lips away from his teeth dumbly. 

"It's all flesh, _malysh_." Sergei smiled softly, "We are all just flesh."

**Author's Note:**

> This was 100% inspired by pistolrush who literally reminded me Morpheus even existed. I am gifting this to them even though they have no obligation to take it because I totally know M/Ms are not for everyone but I absolutely encourage you to read their work!!! <33333333


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